


Unorthodox

by ladydragon76



Series: Unexpected [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: KINK: D/s, KINK: bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Something’s wrong with him, Optimus thinks.  <i>Has</i> to be.  Ratchet has an entirely different opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unorthodox

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** G1  
>  **Series:** Unexpected  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairings:** Optimus Prime/Ratchet  
>  **Warnings:** BDSM, the real stuff, not abuse disguised as it. Sticky smut.  
>  **Notes:** Very early in the war prequel to Unexpected.

He was honored to have been chosen for this sacred duty. The priests chanted some ancient prayer as they prepared his valve. Once they were done, he was helped from the table, the interface panel open, oiled array still exposed. He was led into the Prime’s berth chamber, arranged on the mammoth berth. Fine platinum mesh was draped over him, helm to hip. Another piece was laid over his legs, foot to just past his knee, so light it barely registered as touch.

The priests left, and a few moments later the Prime entered. He could see the Prime’s silhouette through the mesh, shadowy. The cushioning of the berth dipped between his legs, to either side of his shoulders. He let his optics shut, an began the silent prayers he had been instructed to recite while the Prime took him. He was a chalice, a vessel to be filled with the excess energy caused by the Matrix in the new, young Prime.

He gasped as he was filled, but kept his body loose and relaxed. This was not about his pleasure. This was a necessity. A sacrifice to protect their Prime from what he would become if all that energy, all that passion from Primus were to take him over. It drove mechs mad. He was honored to have been chosen to help the Prime in this way. He would not fail. He prayed for strength as it went on and on. The Prime was virile, young. He went through every prayer, then again, and again, had begun a fourth time when the Prime’s vents hitched, heat flooded his valve, and the Prime stiffened over him.

He lay unmoving as the Prime withdrew, and remained there until the priests came for him.

~ | ~

Ratchet frowned at the readings he was getting from the Prime. “You _do_ interface, don’t you?” He was new to this post, and his predecessor had been a moron. Plainly a bigger one than he’d initially thought. Why the frag hadn’t he flagged the Prime as having energy fluxes?

“Of course,” Prime replied, voice low and serene.

Ratchet didn’t buy it for a second. “Uh huh. So what’s the problem?”

Prime shifted, shoulders hunching a little in a way that would have been laughable given _who_ he was, if not for Ratchet’s concern. Things weren’t right. The readings and energy output were all wrong. The Matrix _should_ be better settled by now. “This… can go no further than us.”

“Medics operate under the heaviest privacy guidelines known. Even a psychologist could turn a mech in for a condition. I cannot. I _will_ not.” Ratchet eyed the Prime as he fidgeted more. “Spill it already, Optimus.”

Blue optics snapped up to Ratchet’s face in surprise, then a smile tweaked up the corners of a seldom-revealed mouth. “Yes, sir. You see. I do interface. I adhere to every guideline and tradition laid down for me to follow. I do find a margin of peace in meditation, but…”

Ratchet crossed his arms and waited as Prime trailed off. He waited, and when nothing more was forthcoming, prompted, “But…?”

“I really dislike the interfacing.”

Ratchet bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud at how fast Prime slapped a hand over his mouth as if that could pull the words back or something. Wide optics paled in embarrassment over the edge of Prime’s fingers, and Ratchet did chuckle a little. He wasn’t terribly old, but their new Prime was quite a bit younger than even he was. “Optimus,” he said, deciding to keep pushing the formality aside. “You are a young, virile mech. Those silly priests, and their guidelines have _usually_ worked, but for mechs no less than twice your age.”

“I don’t-“

“Boring, lay-there-and-take-it devotees at all your thing?” Ratchet asked, cutting Prime off. “What you sought in a lover before? Please tell me you had lovers before they crammed that relic into your chest.”

Prime shook his helm no, then yes, then huffed. “Yes, I had interfaced. Not many, but yes. Please! The Matrix is more than a ‘relic’. And in truth, no. It’s… actually rather disturbing. They lie there and pray, sometimes out loud, in whispers. There’s no passion.” He paused, chewing at his lower lip a moment.

Ratchet decided to take the lack of formality further, and hopped up on the berth to sit next to Prime. “Out with it. I really can’t help unless I have all the information.”

“It’s… more. I sometimes fear that-“ Prime stopped, mouth working a little, optics on his hands where he wrung them in his lap. Ratchet reached out, and covered both to stop the restless motion. “I fear,” Prime continued in a whisper, “that I will fall.”

Ratchet frowned down at their hands, then looked up into Prime’s optics. “Why?”

Prime’s optics widened and jumped to meet Ratchet’s.

“What?” Ratchet chuckled, then sobered immediately. “Oh. This concern of yours isn’t new, but they’ve been brushing it off.”

“Yes,” Prime whispered, gaze dropping again. “They say my worrying is why I won’t.” He turned toward Ratchet, one hand flipping to grip the medic’s carefully. “I understand what they are trying to say, but I have these… urges to-” Prime cycled his vents. “I shouldn’t want _that_. I didn’t before.”

“I can appreciate that this is hard for you to say, but being cryptic’s really not helping me to help you. What urges? What do you want now that you didn’t before you were given the Matrix?”

Prime remained silent for a few minutes, turning Ratchet’s hand over in this own, exploring it as a distraction. Ratchet shut down the sensors in it before he could get more than a tingle of possible interest through his systems, and waited the mech out.

“I want… I want to hear them beg. I want… legs around my waist, and their wrists pinned under my hand. I want to take them roughly. Hear them scream for more. I want-“ Prime cut himself off, releasing Ratchet’s hands to clench his own into tight fists. “I want complete power and dominion, and I _shouldn’t_!” Ratchet’s spark ached to hear the desperation and fear in Prime’s voice. “I _can’t_ give into this, but it doesn’t _stop_! It won’t end, and I swear every time I have to ‘face some frigid devotee, I feel a little more of myself slip away, and this… this _monster_ is trying to claw his way out-“

“Ok!” Ratchet clutched Prime’s fists between his hands, and squeezed a little. He lowered his voice, and repeated, “Ok.” He gently kneaded the fists, crooning under his breath for a few minutes until Prime relaxed. “I have a suggestion. It’s completely unorthodox, but it might help.”

Prime’s paled optics swung to his face, lit with so much hope, Ratchet’s spark pulsed pain over his sensornet. “Please! Please anything. I don’t want to fall!”

Ratchet nodded. “This is,” he chuckled, “very likely to get us both in trouble if we’re caught. Which sounds like something a predator would say.” He huffed.

“A predator?”

A hand wave. “There’s a sort of interface… mmm… game, I guess you could call it. Fetishism and kinks. Know anything about that?” Ratchet paused while Prime shook his head in the negative. “This desire to dominate is just a kink.”

One optic ridge arched. “Like in a hose or wire? I’m glitched?”

“Primus, no!” Ratchet laughed a little, and hopped down from the berth to pace a bit. “Bear with me, ok? I’ve never had to explain this in words before. Well. Not to someone that didn’t already mostly understand.”

“Ok.” Prime sat docile and attentive, optics still bright and interested, though that desperate air still clung to him.

“No wait. I know how to do this. Ok look, I happen to have the opposite urge from you. I _like_ to be dominated. I like being tied down. I like being taken roughly, hard. Harder the better. I even enjoy a little pain.” Ratchet smiled recalling one session. “Overloaded so hard once just from a beating. Mech could wield a cane like a demon.” He shivered, then shook it off. “Sorry. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that this urge in you to dominate a lover and have them react and enjoy it is natural. It’s not a sign that you’re falling.”

“It’s- Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. One way to find out.”

Prime looked dubious. “Those mechs won’t _do_ anything! I don’t think I’ve had even a single one overload no matter how long I tried.”

Ratchet tipped his helm. “And we’re back to the part about me sounding like a predator, and doing things we -according to the priests- shouldn’t be doing.”

“I don’t- Ohhh…” Prime gestured between himself and Ratchet with a vague hand motion, and whispered, “Us?”

Ratchet nodded, trying not to smile. Primes were not supposed to be cute. He was sure there was a rule in there somewhere about that too, but Optimus was pretty much the exception to everything anyway, so why not cute too? “It’s going to look really bad from the outside. I know the rules, and so do you.”

“There are rules saying a mech from the lower levels can’t enter the upper levels where he might find work, and thus not starve.” Prime’s optics narrowed, mouth turning down in a disgusted frown. “I wonder how many other of their rules I will find abhorrent and worthy of breaking?”

Ratchet felt his affection and respect for this Prime leap up the scale. “I don’t want you going into this blind. I don’t want you to think I am trying to take advantage of you, because that is _exactly_ what will be said if we’re caught before your spark settles out. There’s no denying that I’m going to enjoy the Pit out of teaching you, but I swear I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t think there was a fair chance that this could be what you need.”

“I am willing.”

“Ok.” Ratchet gave a decisive nod. “I want you to think on exactly what it is that would fulfill you most in interfacing tonight. Throw away whatever you’ve been taught or told by others. I want you to be utterly selfish.”

Pink stained Prime’s face. “I-“

Ratchet chuckled, and stepped forward to grip Prime’s upper arms. “Utterly. Selfish. Medic’s orders. What would make you hotter than hot? Primus, please though! Don’t write it down. Just think on it tonight after you’ve gotten everything else settled for the day. I’ll enter a follow up appointment for joint maintenance for tomorrow morning, and you and I can discuss it all, and work out a plan of action first, then get to work.”

“While you do the joint maintenance?” Prime asked, flexing his elbow joint.

Ratchet blinked, and Prime cracked a grin. “Cute. Get out of my medbay. Prime or not, I will dent you for cheek.”

“I thought you liked being dominated?” Prime stood, artfully sliding out of Ratchet’s reach.

The playfulness was a wonderful thing, Ratchet decided, and should be encouraged. Optimus Prime was too young, too full of life to be constantly bound by the façade he had to dutifully wear for the masses. Smiling, Ratchet nodded. “In the berth, and _only_ in the berth. Everywhere else it’s Primus, then me. And sometimes that order reverses.”

“Blasphemy,” Prime gasped, optics wide in genuine shock.

Ratchet snickered. “My classmates voted me most likely to steal back sparks from the Unmaker himself.”

Prime shook his helm. “You do need a good beating.” Ratchet cackled as Prime’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, face flaming bright pink again. “You are a horrible influence. See you tomorrow.”

Ratchet laughed all the way through scheduling the appointment after Prime fled, and rearranged his calendar for the next day. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be in any condition to see other patients after the Prime’s first lesson.

~ | ~

Optimus’ first lesson did… not go as well as they had hoped. He felt awful. He’d hurt Ratchet, and not in the good way.

“Stop sulking,” Ratchet growled as he carefully worked on his own forearm. “I told you, control is something you learn.”

“I should have it already. I shouldn’t-“ Optimus cut himself off as Ratchet slammed the tool down.

“Look,” Ratchet said, then cycled his vents. “Look,” he began again, tone softer. “This is not your fault.” He pointed at his forearm, then narrowed his optics as Optimus’ mouth opened. “It’s mine. _My_ fault. Control is learned. I should not have expected you to instantly grasp a concept that I’ve lived in for the last fragall knows how many vorns.”

“I am sorry I hurt you.”

“Good. If you weren’t, then I’d be worried we were on the wrong track.”

“This all feels so backwards.” Optimus sighed, and propped his helm in his hand, elbow on the counter as he watched Ratchet get back to work. “I should be suppressing these urges. It’s what they would say.”

“They are wrong. There is _nothing_ wrong with responsibly indulging your kinks with a willing partner.” Ratchet cast him a smirk. “Or three.”

“Hedonist.”

Ratchet chuckled, then asked seriously, “You know the only mech on the planet with interface restrictions is you?”

Optimus frowned a little. That wasn’t what he considered terribly fair, but being Prime meant sacrifice. “Yes. I know.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I must learn to control myself for the sake of our people. I am a servant, not of Primus, but of Primus’ creations. All Cybertronians.”

Ratchet looked up with a raised optic ridge, mouth twisted a bit. “Only you could say that without a single drop of sarcasm.” He bent back to his arm, wincing as he soldered a connection relay into place. “But you did mention a key fact there. You must _learn_ control. Not everyone learns any lesson the same way though. Sure, let’s assume there’s nothing off record with any of the other Primes throughout history, and say they all learned to control the towering passion of Primus,” and oh yes, Ratchet _did_ sound sarcastic saying that, “by spiking, dull, barely conscious drones.

“Why, given all the differences you display from them already, should you be expected to learn control the way they, assumably, did?”

Optimus considered for a moment. His differences from his predecessors made him nervous, but Ratchet’s argument sounded reasonable. He was also inclined to believe Ratchet over the priests just because he actually listened to Optimus. He was the medic here at the citadel because Optimus had liked his no-nonsense attitude, and because the Counsel agreed that he was highly skilled.

Ratchet was also like no one else around Optimus right now. He didn’t treat Prime like an object of worship. He cussed, he spewed blasphemy, he teased, and he ordered Optimus to stop when he was hurting him instead of just lying there taking it like it was the greatest honor to be bestowed.

“So then, in your experienced opinion, where did we go wrong today?”

Ratchet’s optics flickered up, then back, as he fiddled with a couple wires that didn’t seem to want to stay out of his way. “Too much, too soon. And I don’t get the impression that rougher is _all_ you want. Next time, I want you to be as gentle as you possibly can. You can tie me down if you like, but if I say ‘stop’ you do. Other than that, so long as you’re gentle, you can do anything you want to me, order me to do anything you want me to, to you.”

Optimus shivered at the thought. “Anything?”

Ratchet smirked up at him. “Well, no rubbing old grease on me. And let’s set a limit at zero physical damage.”

“Ew. No, no old grease. I wouldn’t want that.” Optimus turned, picking up a stylus, and turning it over in his hands, as he let the pleasant images reply. “But if I wanted your mouth on me?” His face burned. “Or if I just wanted you strapped down while I stroked a single finger over every last one of your seams until you begged me to take you?”

Ratchet’s tool clattered a little as it hit the table, then more as he chased after it with a scrambling hand. “Yeah. Yeah either of those things would be fine.”

“I think I better get to the Temple. They’ll be expecting me for evening prayers.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes please.”

“Midday though,” Ratchet said, voice sounding less breathless and husky.

“I’ll see you then.” Optimus made good his escape while he still had the willpower. Primus! _This_ , he thought, was what interfacing should be about. Looking forward to it, despite the rather graceless start, instead of dreading it.

~ | ~

Ratchet’s vents heaved, trying desperately to pull cooling air into his overheating frame. “Please… Please… Optimus!”

His wrists were cuffed above his helm. Powerful hands held his hips off the berth in a grip as unrelenting as… something… really… unrelenting. Oh-Primus-he-couldn’t- _think_! Not with that thick, long spike sliding out in an even longer stroke before plunging _hard_ back in. His sensornet was aflame, and Ratchet was absolutely certain he could feel every ripple-bump of the ridges on Optimus’ spike as he slowly drew it out again.

“You’re killing me. I’m dying.”

Optimus’ rich, deep chuckle vibrated the very air between them, morphing into a low moan as he thrust back in. It set off a small chain of explosions along the nodes in Ratchet’s valve.

“Ohhh… frag!”

“I don’t think you really want it,” Optimus murmured, curling down to sharply nip Ratchet’s throat. “Know you can be louder than this.”

“Harder!”

“No.”

Ratchet shuddered, pulling against his bonds, feet kicking, but he was helpless in Optimus’ hold. Left to suffer indescribable pleasure. Denied his release by being held to the very edge of it.

The fragger had learned well.

Ratchet felt that realization crystallize within his mind, and let go completely, entrusting everything in him to his lover. His master.

Optimus sensed it, recognized the surrender for what it was, and growled. The thrusts did not speed up, but they gained force. Ratchet shook, keening as bliss thundered through him, but it still wasn’t enough. He pleaded, with broken words and sharp gasps, for more. Please more, just a little, just _enough_.

Ratchet’s helm thrashed side to side, and the first raw sob was torn from his vocalizer. Optimus’ pace faltered, then picked up. Light burst behind Ratchet’s optics with every deep stroke until his world flashed blinding white, then went utterly black.

A low, rumbling purr resonated beside Ratchet’s audial. He was whimpering, hands clinging to broad chest plates.

Wait-

Surprised back to reality, Ratchet stared up at Optimus.

“Hi.”

One optic ridge arched. “Hi my aft. You look way too smug.”

Optimus’ smile only widened, making him look more smug and proud of himself. “It’s a nice aft. Next time I want it in the air with your face in the berth. Great scream, by the way, but I’m going to need you to look at my left audial. It’s still ringing.”

Ratchet slapped his hand against a windscreen. “Slagger.” Optimus just continued to smile. Ratchet rolled his optics, and cycled his vents, relaxing back down to snuggle and soak up the afterglow. “Did good. You’ve come a long way in just a few months.”

“I have a brilliant teacher.”

“Yes, you do.”

“He’s sexy too.”

“He really is,” Ratchet snickered, then tipped his mouth down to bite at Optimus’ armor.

Optimus chuckled, then quieted. “The real test is tomorrow.”

Ratchet’s mouth twisted in distaste. “Ugh. The willing sacrifice.”

“I shall obey. Then I will come for my post-boring interfacing check-up.” Optimus paused, expression going thoughtful. “It might be one of the last times I have to go through it though. I _feel_ more at peace. Much more this time.”

Ratchet let his smile slide into something a little more suggestive. “And when you arrive for your check-up, you’ll find the medic on duty suffering from a severe case of ‘please ‘face me _now_ syndrome’. You will, of course, being the sort of Prime devoted to his people, _have_ to tend to him before he can run your scans.”

“Of course,” Optimus agreed, face straight and serious, tone grave. “I could never leave one of my people to suffer if I could help him.” A single finger stroked down the lateral transformation seam of Ratchet’s torso. “Though it is fun to watch you beg.”

Ratchet shivered at the dark tone, and let Optimus push him onto his back.


End file.
